


you've got your claws buried deep

by pageleaf



Series: bite down (to me) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Difference, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Everyone Is An Adult, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Pining, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf/pseuds/pageleaf
Summary: Viktor somehow manages to look down at him even though Yuri is taller. "Oh, Yuri," he says, not unkindly. It makes Yuri's skin feel too tight. "It isn't about what I want."
Yuri steps back. "What?"
"The piece," Viktor offers, "is called 'Longing'."





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been in the works since....episode three? four? but it took this long to finish haha /o\ it's basically a rule that whatever fandom i'm in, i have to write some sort of pining threesome fic, so. here you go!!
> 
> this takes place about three years after where the show is rn. yurio (who thinks of himself as 'yuri' in this) is eighteen, yuuri is twenty-six, viktor is thirty. viktor and yuuri are married, yuuri is helping his family run the onsen (with his degree), viktor is coaching yurio
> 
> title is from "bite down" by bastille ft. HAIM aka the angriest pining song i've ever heard in my goddamn life, which makes it perfect for yurio
> 
> eternal thanks to formerlydf for the beta ♥♥♥ and to everyone on twitter who helped spawn this

"Yuri. Let's try that one more time."

The music stops, and Yuri freezes right before heading into the quad toe loop, knees already bending a little in preparation.

"Will you ever let me get past the first minute?" he grumbles, skating back to the starting position in the center of the ice.

Viktor smiles at him placidly, leaning his head on one hand. "Maybe if you can get the first minute right."

Yuri exhales, sharp and frustrated. The music starts back up from the beginning.

This is the fifth time they've done this in the past half hour.

For the opening, Yuri begins by stretching out his arm, reaching. He's not sure to where. Slowly, he skates backward, arm still outstretched, before turning into the main part of the program.

Step sequence. Camel spin. Another step sequence.

As the strings begin to swell, Yuri goes into a spread-eagle and then a triple axel, which he executes without much struggle.

"You've got those down, at least," Viktor calls, and Yuri snarls in frustration.

This time, he stops on his own.

Viktor raises his eyebrows at him as he skates over to the boards. "Is something the matter?" He holds out a water bottle.

"I don't know what you want," Yuri says angrily, snatching it from his hand. "The first four times I didn't make any mistakes, why did you stop me?"

"Not everything is about landing jumps." Viktor smiles.

Yuri sets the bottle down loudly on top of the boards. "But I told you, I don't know what I'm doing wrong!"

Viktor chuckles under his breath and Yuri growls in frustration. "Try it again and see if you can figure it out."

"Let him take a break!"

Both of their heads come up at the new voice, a blinding smile spreading immediately across Viktor's face.

"Yuuri!" He leaps toward the entrance with open arms, and he and Yuuri exchange a series of increasingly affectionate kisses. Yuri ungraciously thinks that it makes Viktor look like an excitable dog.

"What are you doing here?" Yuri asks grumpily, though without much bite. It's been three years; he and Yuuri have reached something almost like friendship by now.

"I came to see how you two were doing." Yuuri bites his lip like he's stifling a smile. "It looks like things aren't going so smoothly?" Yuri feels the back of his neck go hot with embarrassment.

"Blame your husband," he snaps. "For being a cryptic asshole."

Yuuri grins as Viktor shrugs elaborately. "That's what coaches are for!" Viktor says sweetly.

"Why can’t you just _tell_ me what to do?" Yuri asks, his voice cracking with frustration. It ruins the light mood, Yuuri's eyes going wide and concerned, and Yuri wishes desperately for the ice to just melt and freeze over on top of him.

Viktor's expression softens. "Yurio," he says, the nickname falling warm and teasing from his mouth, "Just trust me, okay?" He reaches out and flicks Yuri lightly on the nose, and Yuri makes a face. "Try it one more time? For me?"

 

The next morning, Viktor begins by clapping his hands. "Let's focus on the last half of the program today, okay?"

Internally, Yuri breathes out a sigh of relief, grateful to at least not be doing the same minute ten times again. He hadn't achieved whatever Viktor wanted from him yesterday, and he tries not to feel like he's disappointed Viktor because of it. It's Viktor's goddamn fault anyway, for being so opaque.

Maybe today will be better.

The last half of the program is more difficult, so it takes most of his concentration just to do the correct motions. Usually, when Yuri is first learning a routine, he doesn't pay much attention to the music beyond what's necessary to skate in time.

But for some reason, this time is different. When Yuri lands the quad, followed by a triple, something clicks in his brain, and it's like he can _feel_ the strings, the winds, the percussion. He recalls with sudden clarity Viktor playing him the song, but never telling him its name or its story, only saying, "It fits you."

He twists into a combination spin and finishes, not as he's supposed to with his chin and arms raised to the ceiling—but facing head-on, staring at Viktor.

Viktor, who looks enormously pleased with himself.

"You never said who composed the piece," Yuri gasps out, chest heaving with exertion.

Viktor's shit-eating grin gets wider. "I didn't."

Yuri narrows his eyes. "You had it composed for me, didn't you?"

"Good!" Viktor claps his hands. "Ask me the next question."

"If you had it written specifically for me," Yuri says slowly, "then you had to give the composer a theme to work off of. What was it?"

Viktor doesn't answer him, just waits.

Yuri slams his palms down on top of the boards, getting up in Victor's face. "Why won't you just tell me what you _want_?"

Viktor somehow manages to look down at him even though Yuri is taller. "Oh, Yuri," he says, not unkindly. It makes Yuri's skin feel too tight. "It isn't about what _I_ want."

Yuri steps back. "What?"

"The piece," Viktor offers, "is called 'Longing'."

Yuri's mind begins to race. "The beginning of the program, where I'm reaching out."

"Reaching for something."

"Reaching for _what_?"

Viktor shrugs. "That," he says, "is up to you. I thought maybe you could be reaching for gold." He says it without humor, for once; Viktor, like all professional athletes, knows what it means to want to win. But...

Yuri makes a face. Sure, he wants to win. He wants to be the best, wants it with every fiber of his being. But longing, the kind of aching desire in the piece—that isn't the desire Yuri has to win.

Seeing his expression, Viktor laughs. "No?" He taps his chin with his index finger. "What, then?"

With a sudden burst of speed, he leans forward and—taking the same finger—tips Yuri's chin upward. "What do you long for, Yurio?"

Yuri's mind goes blank. He thinks of the music, the soaring flute, the plaintive strings. He looks at Viktor, his blue-grey eyes trained on Yuri's, his pale hair (it's getting too long now, Yuri thinks, a little hysterically) brushing Yuri's cheek. His heart skips a beat.

"N-nothing," he stutters out, wetting his lower lip.

Viktor's eyes flicker downward, then back up. "No? Really?" He looks Yuri over for a moment before stepping back. "Well, I guess you'll just have to learn how to act."

"Yeah," Yuri says shakily, too thrown to even be mad. "Act."

 

Yuri doesn't stay at Yu-topia when he's in Hasetsu—instead, he's been renting out the Nishigoris' guest room—but he still finds himself there for most of his meals. Today, especially, he's craving the solid, reassuring familiarity of the onsen's home cooking. He needs a little comfort right now.

Too bad he doesn't get it, because he's too busy trying not to stare at Yuuri and Viktor across the table from him. They're not even doing anything that couple-y, they just keep...touching. They've always got their shoulders pressed up against each other, legs entangled beneath the table.

Yuuri doesn't even notice that he's been idly stirring his rice with his spoon until Yuuri says, "Yurio-kun, you've barely touched your food, are you okay?" He slips Makkachin some food under the table and ignores Viktor's mock-glare.

Yuri startles. "Hmm? Ah—yeah, I'm okay."

"Do you not like it?" Yuuri's mom says, concerned, and Yuri winces.

"No, it's really good." He pushes his bowl away from him. "I'm just not very hungry." He stands up from the table. "I think I'm going to go to the rink to practice a little more."

Yuuri's mom protests, "You can't skip dinner! Here, take it with you, let me pack it up."

"I'm fine." Yuri waves a hand.

"You haven't eaten in six hours," Yuuri says. "I know, because I brought you both lunch."

"I said I'm _fine_ ," Yuri snaps.

"Yuri," Viktor says.

Yuri freezes, cheeks hot. "Whatever," he says. "I'll take it with me."

 

He takes his time walking to the rink, eating the rice along the way.

Yuuko gave him a key the previous year when he started training with Viktor. "If you're anything like Yuuri," she'd said, "you're going to want your time to skate alone." Yuri uses the key now to let himself into the darkened rink, flipping on the lights and heading into the changing room where he left his skates.

The rink at night is quiet, peaceful. It helps calm Yuri's mind a little bit as he laces up his skates and then steps onto the ice. He skates around in loose circles for a few minutes, syncing up his breathing with the motions of his legs.

Then he launches into the routine, reaching out to something he still can't name.

Step sequence, camel spin, step sequence, spread-eagle, triple axel.

It's not as weird as it should be, doing this without Viktor watching him. He's been doing it more and more often, which Viktor has probably noticed, since Yuri's been landing his jumps for weeks.

Yuri realizes with a sharp pang that something's changed in the past few months. He never used to spend this much time skating by himself. But lately, practicing under Viktor makes him tense, oversensitive, too aware of Viktor's eyes on him. His stomach clenches just thinking of it.

But a small part of him still wishes Viktor were here, right at this moment. That he had come after Yuri, when he stormed out like he was fifteen years old again.

_Longing_ , he thinks suddenly, and stumbles.

"Yurio-kun!" There's the sound of the boards opening and then someone else skating onto the ice.

Ah. Yuuri.

Yuri had landed gracelessly on his butt when he fell, and he slumps backward with a resigned sigh.

"Are you okay?" Yuuri asks, coming into his field of vision. He bends down and offers a hand.

Yuri considers petulantly refusing the help, but then remembers that despite the last few hours, he _is_ technically an adult. He takes the hand and lets Yuuri haul him to his feet. Yuuri's been retired for a year now, but his arms are still strong. Yuri doesn't know why he notices that.

Yuuri looks him over with concern. "It didn't look like you fell too hard, but—"

"I'm fine," Yuri says shortly, cutting him off. "Where's Viktor?"

"Back at home, why?"

"He didn't come with you?"

Yuuri tilts his head in confusion. "No?"

"Did he send you after me?" Yuri crosses his arms and puts some distance between them.

"No," Yuuri says slowly. "No one sent me. I came because you looked upset at dinner, so I was worried."

Oh. Yuri hadn't expected that. "...thanks," he says reluctantly.

"Of course." Yuuri sticks his hands in his pockets. "Ready to go home? Viktor wanted you to stay with us tonight."

Stay with them. The thought fills Yuri with something like—but not quite—dread. "I was hoping to stay a little longer," he says, but all of a sudden the thought of being alone in the empty rink makes his heart sink.

"Can I stay?" Yuuri asks. "I'll be quiet, I just don't think you should be alone right now."

"You don't...have to be," Yuri mumbles. "Quiet, I mean."

Yuuri smiles at him in way that makes Yuri feel slightly off-kilter. "Want a fresh set of eyes? Sure! What's the problem?"

Yuri skates to the center of the ice and then stops, turned away from Yuuri. "I don't know," he admits. There's a silence, like Yuuri's waiting for more, so he continues. "Viktor isn't happy with how I'm skating the program, even though the technique is _fine_ ," he says testily. "I think. Well. Viktor thinks I'm having trouble emotionally connecting with it."

"Well," Yuuri says cheerfully. "Getting overly emotionally invested in routines is my specialty. What's the piece called?"

"'Longing'," Yuri replies.

"Longing for what?"

Yuri shrugs, carefully indifferent. "Who knows. That's what we're trying to figure out."

"Hmm." When Yuri finally turns back to look at him, he sees Yuuri tapping a finger on his chin, a thoughtful gesture so clearly stolen from Viktor that Yuri snorts, almost fond. "What?" Yuuri asks.

Yuri shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Why don't you take it from the beginning?" Yuuri suggests, skating backward to stand near the boards.

Yuri sighs. "Fine."

This time, Yuri can't get the damn music out of his head, even though it's not playing. Longing, he thinks, and finds it all too easy to picture what—who—he's reaching for at the beginning. He shudders and shakes himself mentally.

Step sequence, camel spin, step sequence. The spread-eagle into the triple axel, which he lands fine.

Another half a minute, and then the quad, which Viktor—shit. Yuri's concentration wavers, and the quad turns into a double.

"Ah." Yuuri's voice breaks through his panic, soft and knowing.

Yuri slows to a stop, panting. "What?"

"You're holding back. Why?"

"What are you talking about?" Yuri scoffs. "I'm not holding back at all."

Yuuri frowns at him. He looks disappointed, and Yuri's stomach drops near his toes. What the hell? Since when does he give a shit about disappointing Yuuri?

"It didn't look like you were struggling to emotionally connect," Yuuri says, crossing his arms. "You were doing fine until you started trying to rein it in."

"I wasn't," Yuri repeats, but his heart isn't in it. He was holding back. This whole week he's been beating his head against a wall trying to find inspiration, and now it's the opposite, and he doesn't want to think about why. So he insists, "I wasn't holding back."

"Your quad turned into a double," Yuuri points out. "I thought you said you weren't having any trouble with the technique."

Yuri huffs. "I'm not. I was nervous."

Yuuri raises his eyebrows, looking actually surprised. "I made you nervous?"

"What? No!" Yuri runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Never mind," he bites out. "This isn't helping at all. I'm going home."

He takes off across the ice, skating past Yuuri and off the ice into the changing room. Yuuri trails after him and takes off his skates, while Yuri does the same in silence.

"I'm sorry if I made you angry," Yuuri says softly.

Yuri stares down at his right skate, hands freezing on the laces. He bites his lip. "I'm not angry."

"You seem pretty—"

"I said I'm not angry!" Yuri snaps, and Yuuri shuts up.

They walk back to the onsen in silence, Yuuri texting someone—probably Viktor—while Yuri sticks his hands in his pockets and refuses to talk.

He knows he's being a dick, and he can't explain it, but he can't help it either. Everything feels too bright, too sharp. Like if he opens up even a little bit, he'll vaporize.

_What's happening to me?_ he thinks. Next to him, Yuuri's phone keyboard makes little clicking noises, his sappy smile lit by the blue glow of his screen. What's he saying? What's Viktor saying?

The feeling gets worse.

Viktor's waiting for them when they reach the onsen, leaning in the doorway with careless elegance, Makkachin wagging his tail beside him. Yuri pushes past them both wordlessly to enter the house.

Behind him, he hears Viktor ask, "Did something happen?"

"I'm not sure," Yuuri says hesitantly.

Their conversation continues in a low murmur—too domestic, too intimate, too knowing. Yuri feels like he could tear his hair out. He runs up the stairs to the attic where he stays sometimes and collapses onto the futon. _Did something happen?_ Viktor had asked. No, nothing happened.

Yes, something happened.

Yuri rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. _What do you long for, Yurio?_.

Fuck.

He wants him. He wants Viktor.

The realization feels earth-shattering, and at the same time so fucking obvious Yuri wants to scream into the pillow. Of course this would happen to him. Yuri thinks about how when he was fourteen he'd been so _pleased_ whenever Viktor had paid attention to him, and when he'd promised to choreograph for him...and then when he'd forgotten his promise, Yuri had been so irrationally devastated. He'd blamed it on being fifteen and melodramatic, but god, what if—

What if he's always loved Viktor, and just never thought about it?

There's a knock on the door. "Yurio-kun?" Yuuri calls softly. "Can we come in?" _We_. Yuri doesn't want to see either of them right now, but especially not Viktor.

He rolls onto his stomach, and pretends to be asleep.

 

The next morning, Yuri gets up early and heads down the stairs, hoping to have some time to gather his bearings before he has to see anyone else. The onsen is closed today, so everyone is sleeping in.

Unfortunately, Makkachin is in the kitchen, sleeping in front of the window, so at least one of the two lovebirds must be up. Yuri looks around, but he doesn't see either of them.

He bends down to scratch behind Makkachin's ears. The poodle cracks open one eye, tail wagging briefly, before settling back into sleep. "I was pretty cold last night, huh?" Yuri says softly. "Sorry for ignoring you, buddy."

"Apology accepted!"

Yuri tenses, turning to see Viktor in the doorway. His hair is damp. He's probably just come back from his run.

"Why would I be apologizing to you," Yuri says flatly.

Viktor pouts. "You hurt my feelings, Yurio."

Yuri bites his lip and turns away, petting Makkachin absently. "Why do you still call me that?" Makkachin rolls over and Yuri strokes his stomach.

"We wouldn't want anyone to get confused, would we?" Viktor passes by him to fix himself a cup of coffee.

With a sigh, Yuri says, "I don't think anyone would mix up when you're talking to which Yuri."

Viktor laughs under his breath, pouring coffee from the pot. "Wouldn't they?"

Yuri's hand stills on Makkachin's fur. He pictures Viktor taking the same adoring tone with him that he does with Yuuri and feels his ears grow hot. He ignores it, and says, "Besides, Yuuri's not here right now. No one's gonna get confused. No one else is even here."

Viktor shrugs, one-armed, as he grabs cream from the fridge and stirs some in. "It's cute, isn't it?"

Cute. Yuri's never thought of it like that—like a pet name. He's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Grasping desperately for a subject change, he says, "Since when do you like coffee?" Viktor's always preferred tea, very sweet.

Viktor turns and smiles at him, holds out the cup. "I don't."

Yuri takes it, throat tight with something between pleasure and bitterness. "It's good," he chokes out. He takes another sip. It's perfect.

"Yuri," Viktor says. His voice is low and uncharacteristically serious, now. "Is everything okay?"

_No_. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

Viktor just hums a non-response and fills up the kettle for tea.

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and Makkachin perks up, shaking Yuri's hand off and padding to the doorway to meet Yuuri. Yuri straightens up out of his crouch and stands awkwardly off to the side.

"Good morning," Yuuri says. "I thought you two would have left already."

"I went for my run already," Viktor says, greeting Yuuri with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Yuri averts his eyes. "Yurio here was sleeping pretty soundly," Viktor continues with the smile of a benevolent dictator. "I didn't have the heart to wake him."

Yuri snorts, rolling his eyes, and Yuuri shoots him a mischievous look.

"Do you want breakfast?" Yuuri asks. "I bet Viktor didn't even think about feeding you." He sounds a little bit like his mother. Yuri tries not to find it endearing.

"He gave me coffee," Yuri says, and laughs despite himself when Yuuri rolls his eyes.

"Go sit down," Yuuri orders, gesturing out of the kitchen. "We'll get you taken care of."

Yuri tenses, shoulders coming up around his ears. "You don't have to," he mumbles into the mug.

"Hmm," Yuuri says noncommittally. "Maybe not. But I want to." He opens up the fridge and grabs eggs, leftover rice from the night before. "You looked pretty rough yesterday. Everyone deserves a break."

It wasn't skating that Yuri needed a break from, but he decides not to argue.

 

Yuri's first competition in the series is the Cup of China, and he has about four months left to prepare. His free skate has been almost polished for a month now. As for the short program: he really does have the technical aspects down, and he thinks—with recent events in mind—that interpretation won't be much of a problem anymore.

Viktor must think the same, because he magnanimously decides to give Yuri the day off.

"You just want to spend all day lazing around," Yuri says suspiciously.

"That's an unfair accusation," Viktor complains from the couch, where he's swaddled in a robe, tucked into Yuuri's side. He pats the section of the couch next to him in invitation.

Yuri shakes his head emphatically. "No way."

Viktor makes the most melodramatically despondent expression Yuri's ever seen.

"I'm _not_ cuddling with you and your husband," Yuri stresses.

"You don't _have_ to cuddle," Viktor allows. "Although I don't know why you wouldn't want to—"

_Good_ , Yuri thinks, hoping Viktor continues not knowing.

Yuuri looks up from his book. "You can just sit with us."

Hesitantly—knowing how bad a fucking idea this is, but unable to help himself anyway—Yuri approaches the couch and plops down on the empty cushion. He's careful to keep himself angled away from the two of them.

It backfires on him when Viktor grabs his feet and pulls them into his lap. Yuri nearly jumps out of his skin.

"What the fuck," he says.

"Relaaaax," Viktor says cheerfully. He smooths his thumb along the bone of Yuri's ankle, and Yuri shivers, heat curling in his gut.

He tries ineffectually to yank his foot out of Viktor's grasp, but Viktor holds firm. "Gotta take care of your feet, no?" He digs into the balls of Yuri's left foot, and Yuri's entire body jerks.

"Ah," he gasps out.

"Hurts?" Viktor asks softly.

Yuri shakes his head. "Feels—feels good," he says shakily.

"Hmm," Viktor says, and leans back on Yuuri's shoulder with his eyes shut, for all appearances going to sleep, except for how he keeps on massaging Yuri's feet. Yuri's turned on, beyond a doubt, and a little freaked out by how domestic this is, but—he didn't sleep very well last night, and Viktor's hands feel _really_ good, and he can hear the oddly soothing sound of Yuuri flipping pages and...

He drifts off before he even realizes he's closed his eyes.

When he wakes up, the quality of light in the room shows that it's early afternoon. The house is still empty. Yuuri's parents must be out, and Mari-neesan is probably sleeping as well. Yuri yawns quietly, stretching his legs out and curling his toes to work out the sleep-stiffness. Which is when he realizes that he's no longer curled into the corner of the couch, but laid out carefully along its whole length, his head pillowed on someone's lap.

Yuri's expecting it to be Viktor, but when he tilts his head to peer upward, he's not surprised to see the softer curve of Yuuri's jaw. His book is half-open on the side table and his head is resting on his hand, his glasses hanging precariously on the edge of his nose. Yuri resists the urge to push them back up into security.

His neck is going to ache as soon as he gets up, he thinks mournfully.

Although Yuuri's will be probably worse, in that strained position.

Yuri gets up cautiously (and yep, his neck twinges painfully), and with careful, gentle hands, plucks the glasses off Yuuri's face, setting them down on the table with his book. Then he puts his hands on Yuuri's shoulders and slowly eases him onto his side. Yuuri does the rest, stretching languidly to fill the entire couch.

His shirt rides up, baring his waist and the cut of his hip, and Yuri's mouth goes dry.

There's a noise from the kitchen. Viktor must be awake. Yuri curses himself mentally and goes upstairs.

He grabs a spare set of clothes (tries not to think about the Katsukis keeping clothes here for him) and a towel and heads back downstairs to bathe. He got over his hangups about bathing with other people a while ago, and besides, with the onsen closed, he'll have it all to himself; he should take advantage.

On his way, though, Yuri hears voices from the kitchen. He checks, and sees that the couch is empty.

"—m just saying, he seemed pretty stressed."

"He'll be fine. Yuri doesn't get stressed about competing."

Viktor's right. Yuri isn't stressed about competing at all.

"You could go a little easier on him."

"Why, I never went easy on you, did I? And you turned out okay." A soft, wet sound. They're kissing.

Yuri's face burns, and he hurries past.

 

He goes back to the Nishigoris' when he's clean, declining Yuuri's mom's offer of lunch.

"I should get home," Yuri says. "I have some work to do."

Axel opens the door when he knocks, judgmental expression already in place.

Yuri shifts self-consciously. "Forgot my key. You gonna let me in or what?"

Axel squints at him suspiciously, before running back into the sitting room to play with her sisters.

"Yurio-kun," Yuuko says, coming into the room when he closes the door behind him. "Are you okay? Yuuri said—"

Yuri waves her off, trying not to be too harsh. The Nishigoris are some of the only people he cares about offending. "I'm fine, now. Can we not talk about it?"

Yuuko frowns at him, clearly concerned, but lets it slide. "Sure. Did you eat?"

Yuri breathes a sigh of relief and follows her into the kitchen.

 

The next day, Viktor doesn't show up for practice alone.

"Don't you have an actual job?" Yuri says snidely.

Yuuri just smiles at him. "Mari-neesan can handle today's crowd. All my work can be done tonight." He sighs, dramatic, sounding just like Viktor. "Do you not want me here?"

Viktor makes enormous, pleading eyes, his chin resting on Yuuri's shoulder.

"Ugh. Fine." Yuri pushes off from the boards and skates a lap around the ice, warming up.

During his day off, he did his best to come to terms with his feelings (by which he means jerking off desperately three times and crying lightly into his pillow before accepting his situation). He thinks he's a little more prepared, now, to deal with being in—love, shit, while still channeling it into his program.

He does wonder, a little, why Viktor picked this particular theme for him. Did he know, even then, how Yuri feels? How could he, when Yuri himself didn't? But if anyone could know, Viktor would.

Fuck. This isn’t doing him any good.

"Shall we begin?" Viktor calls. He's on the ice today, instead of behind the boards with Yuuri, so he can more easily show Yuri what he wants.

Step sequence, camel spin, step sequence. Spread-eagle into—

"Hold on."

Yuri skids to a stop. "What?" he grumbles. He's sure, at this point, that he has it. So why is Yuuri asking him to stop?

Yuuri frowns, motioning for Viktor to join him. When Viktor skates over, they have a brief, intense whispered conversation, and Viktor glances back at Yuri with surprise and—concern? What happened, what did he do? Did he do something wrong? Was he too obvious? Fuck.

He feels the panic rising in his throat, swift and inexorable, suffocating him. If he stays here any longer, he's going to lose it.

"I—" he says, eyes and face burning. "I need to take a break. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Wait, Yuri—" Viktor says, hand outstretched, but Yuri leaves him reaching as he skates off the other end of the ice.

 

Yuri ends up sitting on the top step of the outside staircase, head buried in his arms, regretting every decision that got him to this point.

Someone walks up quietly and sits down next to him.

Viktor. "Go away," Yuri says, muffled.

"Yurio-kun," comes the response and oh. Shit. Yuuri's shoulder comes up to press against his. "You're shivering. Are you cold?" He shifts, suddenly, and Yuri looks up to see him shrugging out of his coat.

"No!" Yuri pushes the coat away. "I'm fine." He turns his head so he doesn't have to see Yuuri's disbelieving expression.

Silence, and then: "Yurio-kun." Then, when Yuri ignores it, " _Yuri_."

" _What_ ," he snarls, whipping his head around to face Yuuri.

Yuuri, who looks horrified. He makes an aborted movement, like he was going to reach out. "You're...crying."

What? Yuri scrubs a hasty palm over his face and curses when it comes away wet. He didn't even realize—

"Are you." Yuuri scoots a little closer. "Are you ok? Is everything all right with your family?"

Yuri snorts. "My family's fine." His grandpa is healthy. His mom is...normal. He'd talked to her briefly the day before. She'd probably been able to tell something was wrong, but hadn't asked about it, which was typical. "Everything's fine. I'm—fine," and his voice breaks, shit, he can't be crying, this isn't happening.

Yuuri swears and grabs his shoulders in a one-armed hug, and before he knows it, Yuri is crying into the crook of Yuuri's neck.

"Sometimes I forget," Yuuri says distantly, palm warm where it presses against Yuri's back.

He doesn't seem inclined to continue, so Yuri says, "What?"

Yuuri sighs. "How young you are."

Yuri rears back. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Holding his hands up placatingly, Yuuri says, "Nothing, nothing! It's just that you've always seemed to have everything together. But I remember being eighteen. When it comes down to it, you're really just—"

"If you say 'just a kid' I _will_ kick your ass," Yuri growls.

Yuuri bites his lip against a smile. "Sorry. I know you're not a kid. But," he says casually, and Yuri narrows his eyes, "you know that adults talk about their feelings, right? They don't just bottle them up."

"That's such a lie," Yuri says, laughing despite himself.

"Yeah," Yuuri says, losing the battle against his smile. He looks relieved, which makes Yuri wonder how bad _he_ looked. "Viktor and I do okay, though."

Yuri tenses. "You and Viktor aren't normal."

Yuuri looks back at the rink, gaze distant and adoring. It hurts less than Yuri expected. "Maybe not," Yuuri says, turning back to face him. His hand it still on Yuri's back, and it feels suddenly exponentially warmer. "But you can still tell me what's bothering you. I promise not to tell Viktor if you don't want me to."

Jeez. "I'm fine," Yuri says, rolling his eyes. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity if you're friends." Yuuri holds out that dumb poodle tissue box Viktor's had for years. "Blow your nose."

Yuri sullenly takes a tissue and blows. He takes another one and wipes his face. "Friends." It's true, but they've never said it before.

"Family, at this point." Yuuri knocks his shoulder against his. "Part of the Katsuki-Nikiforov-Nishigori clan."

"Yeah." Yuri has to look away, blinking back tears again.

Yuuri stands back up with a groan. "Ready to go back in?"

He stretches, his shirt riding up. And just like the previous day, Yuri's eyes get caught on the sliver of skin that shows. Maybe it's that, or the easy way Yuuri called him 'family' that makes him say it.

"I'm in love with him." Yuuri looks down at him, and Yuri continues, defiantly, "With Viktor."

Yuuri’s glasses catch the sunlight, making him unreadable for a long moment. Yuri sweats.

Finally, Yuuri’s shoulders drop, and he smiles, his eyes visibly soft. "I know." He doesn't look angry. He doesn't look pitying. He looks...affectionate. Understanding. Pleased.

Yuri stares at him. "Oh." He shakes his head to clear it. "Okay."

He stands up as well and heads back into the rink with Yuuri. "Hey," he begins.

"Hmm?"

"Why did you stop me in the middle of my routine?"

Yuuri smiles a little sheepishly. "You were...too believable. I got worried."

Yuri thinks of how Viktor had looked at him, with wide-eyed concern, and flushes. "Did you. What did you say to..."

"To Viktor?" Yuuri shakes his head. "Nothing. I just said I thought you looked upset." He laughs. "He doesn't deal well with things like that. I think you freaked him out."

They both toe off their shoes inside the locker room. Yuuri laces his skates up and heads onto the ice. After a brief moment of hesitation, Yuri follows.

"Everything okay?" Viktor asks jauntily. But now that Yuuri's mentioned it, Yuri can see the nervousness in Viktor's smile.

He huffs out a laugh, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders for the first time in days. "Everything's fine. Can we get back to it already?"

 

The rest of practice goes well. Viktor is uncharacteristically subdued, but Yuuri calls out encouragement every once in a while, and at the end, they're all happy with how the program's going.

Maybe it goes too well, because when Yuri gets out of the shower at home, his phone buzzes.

(7:15) what were you thinking of during your routine today?

Oh, no.

Yuri should've seen this moment coming. Viktor is a nosy bastard, but more than that...he does care about Yuri, even when sometimes Yuri feels like he's been abandoned. Of course Viktor's going to want to know.

Still.

(7:18) does it matter

He doesn't know if he wants the answer to be yes or no.

(7:20) you don't have to tell me, but i'd like to know

What a cop-out answer. Ugh.

Feeling vindictive, Yuri writes back.

(7:21) ask your husband

The lag before he gets a response is deafening.

(7:29) he said he didn't know

(7:29) he's lying

(7:33) he says he can't tell me

Yuri throws his phone at the wall. Damn Yuuri for being kind.

"Yurio," Takeshi yells through the door, "everything okay?"

The phone vibrates angrily against the wall.

"Fine!" Yuri shouts back. He walks across the room and picks up the phone like it's contaminated.

(7:35) viktor said you asked him to ask me

(7:36) do you want me to tell him?

Yuri bites his lip. He doesn't know. He doesn't know what he wants.

(7:38) do whatever you want

(7:39) yuri

Yuri groans, falling back against the bed. He stares up at the ceiling for a long moment, before grabbing his phone again.

(7:41) tell him

(7:42) and before you ask, i'm sure

He isn't. But he's as sure as he's ever going to be.

He turns his phone off and goes out to help with dinner.

 

Yuri doesn't turn his phone back on until the next morning. There's only one text.

(7:43) ok, i will

Somehow he'd expected...more. The lack of reaction is unsettling. And a little upsetting.

He dresses slowly, nervously. God, he's such an impulsive idiot. How could he be so _stupid_?

Going downstairs (quietly, to avoid waking the triplets up), he sneaks into the kitchen. He considers skipping breakfast, because with his stomach churning like this, there's no way he wants to eat. But then he thinks of the last time he tried that—everyone in the Katsuki family, Viktor included, staring at him with disapproving eyes.

He eats breakfast.

On his way to the rink, his phone buzzes.

(9:12) we'll be a little late to practice

Nothing else. What a cryptic asshole.

(Yuri tries not to dwell on 'we' and how it really doesn't bother him. It doesn't bother him at all.)

Public skate hours are just ending when Yuri reaches the Ice Castle, families filtering out leisurely, little kids barreling out ahead of them.

He's early, and the lovebirds will be late. Viktor's never late; Yuri can't help but imagine, even as he tries his hardest not to, all the reasons he might be delayed.

Once, years ago, Yuri accidentally almost walked in on the two of them during the Grand Prix. He was sixteen, and for all his punk reputation, incredibly a virgin, and he'd barely recognized what he was hearing until—

Yuri'd half-pushed open the door and caught sight of Viktor, flat against the opposite wall, Yuuri pressed up against his front. Yuri had frozen, unable to look away from Viktor's flushed, euphoric face, open and vulnerable in a way Yuri'd never seen him. He hadn't been able to see much of Yuuri, but he'd heard both of their gasped out moans. He'd shut the door hurriedly and turned to go, but not before hearing a painfully loud, "Ah, _Yuuri_ —"

It's something Yuri's been thinking about a lot, lately, how for a split second, it had sounded like Viktor was calling out for him. How in hindsight, that had probably been the start of his downfall.

That's not why he's thinking of it now, though. No, Yuri isn't even thinking that far into the memory. He's stuck on the sight of the two of them together. What were they doing, exactly? Yuri had been too embarrassed to really look.

Viktor had been naked, at least. Yuri thinks of the exact way Viktor had thrown his head back as he cried out, hair in shambles across his face. What were they doing? How had Yuuri's arms been moving?

Maybe Yuri's imagination is just filling it in now, but he thinks he'd seen Yuuri's hand working between the two of their bodies. He'd definitely seen Yuuri bite Viktor, right on the meat of his shoulder. He can believe it—they both seem like the possessive type.

Only. Wait. That's not true, is it? If Yuuri were possessive, he would've been a lot angrier with Yuri, but he wasn't.

What would he have done, Yuri wonders, with a sudden jolt of adrenaline, if Yuri had stayed a little longer, back then?

And just like that, he's caught up in it, imagining himself watching with breathless intent, staying, going in. Yuri knows, objectively, that Yuuri can get easily embarrassed, so he'd probably blush and stutter and end it right there.

But where's the fun in that? In Yuri's head, at least, they stare back at him, Viktor still flushed and heavy-lidded, and Yuuri smiles and reaches out a hand and says, "Yurio-kun, care to join us?" and Yuri reaches back and—

"Yurio-kun?"

Yuri jolts out of his reverie, breathing rapidly, cheeks hot. "Huh?"

Yuuri is standing in front of him, looking at him with concern. "Are you okay? You look flushed." His hair is wet; he must have just showered before coming. Yurio firmly doesn't think about it.

He's not really okay. He's embarrassed and turned on and scared. But he can't say that, can he?

"Where's..."

"Ah, you're here!" Viktor says, poking his head in. Does he look different? Nervous, awkward, distant? Yuri can't tell. "Sorry we're late." He smiles. "You're still not ready, though? Come on, put your skates on."

Numbly, Yuri obeys. Are they just going to pretend nothing happened?

He chances a look at Yuuri, but he's unreadable too.

Yuri clears his throat nervously and stands up on wobbly ankles. "Ready."

 

Practice is a nightmare.

Yuri can't concentrate, every bit of his mind focused on either Yuuri and Viktor and sex or Viktor _knowing_. Viktor is being aggressively normal about everything, but he isn't talking as much as he usually does, and the atmosphere is suffering for it. Yuuri keeps shooting the both of them worried glances, which is honestly the hardest for Yuri to handle.

They try to push through it, even as the air around them gets painfully tense, but then Yuri fumbles the triple axel and falls. He catches himself with his hands, but the damage to his composure is already done.

"I can't do this," he whispers to himself.

"Yuri!" Viktor shouts, running onto the ice and kneeling down next to him. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Yuri just stares at him, words escaping him. Finally, he says, "Are _we_ okay?"

Viktor blinks, eyes skittering to side where, no doubt, Yuuri is standing. "What do you mean?"

Anger swells in Yuri's throat. "Okay, you know what—I really can't do this." He stands up shakily and begins skating away.

A hand grabs his wrist. "Wait."

Yuri turns back, slowly, and sees Viktor looking down at the ice, brow furrowed and jaw tight. His grip is a little too snug around Yuri's wrist, but as the first sign of a reaction he's given, Yuri will take it.

"What?" When he gets no response, Yuri raises his voice, " _What_ , Viktor? What do you want?"

Viktor's head comes up, and he looks Yuri straight in the eye, resolute. "I told you," he says seriously, "it's about what _you_ want."

Yuri narrows his eyes and tries half-heartedly to pull his hand away. "You know what I want."

"Do I?"

"Your husband told you," Yuri says, turning to Yuuri. "Right?"

Yuuri frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. "I told him you love him." Hearing it out loud is like ice water, a jolt down Yuri's spine. "But that doesn't mean..." He looks at Yuri uncertainly. "Loving someone doesn't mean you want to be with him."

Yuri opens his mouth to say that of _course_ it's what he wants, but then he thinks about Yuuri and Viktor, and how good the thing they have is. They're _married_. How could Yuri have a place in that?

And besides, when did he start thinking of being a part of what they had, not just with Viktor? Yuri is just being selfish and young; it'll never work.

He pulls away and draws in on himself. "I want to," he says, because it's true, but his voice is almost inaudible.

"To be with me?" Viktor asks. There's something lurking behind his eyes, something Yuri can't interpret.

Honesty got him into this. Maybe honesty is the only way out.

"With both of you," he corrects, and next to him, Yuuri makes a quiet, cut-off noise.

"With—"

"Both of us," Viktor says, and breaks out into a smile.

Is he laughing at Yuri? "Why are you smiling?"

Viktor laughs, loud and delighted. "Yuuurio," he says, and oh, that's the same tone Yuri's heard thousands of times, only never directed at him. "You're so oblivious."

And he kisses Yuri.

Yuri hits him out of sheer surprise.

"Ouch!" Viktor whines, rearing backward. He rubs his shoulder, where Yuri smacked him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Yuri snaps, stumbling back. He forgets he's still on the ice and almost falls over, before Yuuri catches him by the arms. The touch is too much, and Yuri shakes him off. "Why would you—"

"I want it too."

Yuuri puts his hands back on Yuri's upper arms, keeping him still while Viktor steps closer, and in his shock, Yuri lets him. "W-what?"

"We want you too," Yuuri says, his breath hitting Yuri's neck.

"I can't believe you didn't know," Viktor says. "I thought I was being so obvious."

Yuri pulls a disbelieving face. "In what world?" Yuuri huffs a laugh behind him, and he shivers.

"He was," Yuuri says. "You just have to know how to look." His voice is heavy with meaning, and Yuri watches in fascination as the tips of Viktor's ears turn red.

"I don't understand," Yuri says. "Why would you want..." He can't say it.

"That's not really something you can explain." Viktor says with a smile. "We just do."

Yuri can't believe it. He needs proof. "Let me kiss you," he blurts out, and Viktor blinks.

"Of cour—mmf," he says into Yuri's mouth, opening up his arms to catch Yuri when he flings himself at him.

It's good. It's better than good. It's perfect enough that Yuri yet again forgets where they are and moans, wrapping his arms around Viktor's shoulders.

"Hey, hey," Yuuri interjects, warm and amused. "Not here." Yuri pulls back, gasping, to look at him, standing not quite close enough, looking soft and happy and a little unsure, and has to kiss him too.

He still has one arm looped around Viktor's neck, the other going to the back of Yuuri's head, bringing the three of them up tightly against each other. Yuuri's shorter than him by a fair amount, so Yuri has to lean down a little, almost making them all lose balance and go tumbling to the ice.

Yuuri laughs. "I said not here! Unless you want us all to get concussed after falling."

"No," Yuri says breathlessly, resting his head on Viktor's shoulder. He feels oversensitive and full, happy in a slippery sort of way he can't grasp just yet. "You're right. Let's go."

 

They don't make it out of the rink.

"Yu-chan's going to kill me," Yuuri mutters as Viktor pushes Yuri against the wall.

"Yuuko will probably be happy we're getting our heads out of our asses," Viktor laughs, folding to his knees in front of Yuri. Yuri's breath catches.

"Viktor—"

"Maybe the floor would work better," Viktor says, looking around. "I wouldn't want you to fall down."

Yuuri rolls his eyes. "You have a pretty high opinion of yourself."

Viktor smiles up at him with teeth. "Is it undeserved?"

Yuuri turns pink.

" _Viktor_ ," Yuri whines, kicking him in the knee. "If you're going to do something, then fucking do it already."

Yuuri and Viktor look at him consideringly before trading a glance. "I'll catch him," Yuuri says solemnly.

"I'm not going to fall!" Yuri says indignantly—or starts to say, before his brain shuts off when Viktor pulls his pants down to his thighs with a quick tug, leaving him in just his briefs. "Oh," he breathes.

"Too fast?" Viktor looks up at him, concerned.

"No," Yuri says dazedly, forgetting to restrain himself. "I just. Want this, a lot."

Viktor's mouth quirks up, small and sincere, and he says, "Me too."

"I'm going to kiss you now," Yuuri says, from where he's leaning against the wall on Yuri's right. Yuri opens up for it readily, moans quiet and surprised when Viktor strokes over the inside of his thighs with his thumbs.

"Sensitive," Viktor murmurs, and Yuri has to break the kiss to tip his head back and gasp for air.

Yuuri doesn't seem bothered, reaching down to yank the hem of Yuri's shirt up and over his head. He throws it somewhere on the floor, not that any of them are really paying attention. Yuri shivers and breaks out in goosebumps when Yuuri takes advantage of his bared neck to place a firm hand on his jaw, guiding him back into another kiss.

At the same time, Viktor leans in and mouths at the cut of Yuri's hip, and Yuri's knees give out.

"I told you," Viktor teases, holding him easily up with firm hands at his hips. Yuuri, his arm around Yuri's torso, muffles a laugh into Yuri's neck. Yuri wants to be miffed, tries to, but is too caught up in the incredibly distracting way Viktor is stroking his cock through the thin cloth of his briefs.

"Oh," Yuri pants. "Oh god, please—"

"Shh," Yuuri says, hand spread soothingly against Yuri's ribs, too-hot and overwhelming.

Yuri's head falls forward and he stares, riveted, as Viktor flicks his thumb over the head of his cock, still through the cloth. "Touch me," he pleads.

"I wanted to take my time," Viktor complains.

"We're in the middle of the changing room for a public skating rink," Yuri grits out. "You can take your time n—" He stutters as the words register. "Next time?" It comes out insecure and faltering.

Viktor smiles without looking at him. "You're right," he says sweetly, and pulls down Yuri's briefs as well. He wastes no time in wrapping his hand around Yuri's dick. "When we get back home I'm going to go so slow. I want to fuck you, is that okay?"

"Fuck, Viktor," Yuuri says wonderingly, leaning his head on Yuri's shoulder.

Yuri eyes fall shut and he whimpers when Viktor tightens his grip. "Please," he says, both to what's happening right now and to the picture Viktor's painting. He opens his eyes, but he can't manage more than halfway open. He feels like he's on the edge of falling, and he's not sure he wants to be caught this time. "I—I want you to. I want to make you feel good." 

Viktor's smile freezes, and then he's clenching his jaw and speeding up the pace of his hand.

Shit. Yuri's hips buck forward without his consent, even as worry swells bitter in his throat."What—ah," Yuri gasps, head lolling to the side to rest on Yuuri's. "What's wrong? Did I—"

"Nothing's wrong," Yuuri reassures him, his hand _still_ on Yuri's ribs, dragging slowly down and around until it's resting on his abdomen. It's both comforting and distracting, and Yuri's breathing doesn't slow. Yuuri smiles and continues, "He just wants you, a lot."

The bottom drops out of Yuri's stomach as he goes into freefall. "Oh," he hears himself say. "Okay."

"In fact," Yuuri says, as Viktor leans in with intense determination to suck a bruise into Yuri's thigh, "you should probably come soon, so we can get home faster."

Viktor smiles against Yuri's dick and kisses it, once, before giving it a couple short, firm strokes. The world comes rushing back in, and the overwhelming _want_ hits Yuri again like a truck.

"Oh, oh fuck," he keens desperately, hips straining forward in Viktor's grasp.

"Come on, Yurio," Viktor says, low and warm. "Please?"

And that's it.

 

When he can register his surroundings again, Yuri's collapsed on the floor—ugh, he really fell down?—against Viktor's chest, holding on weakly to his shoulders.

He's crying.

"Why," he begins, and can't figure out how finish the question. He buries his face in Viktor's collar in and quietly shakes apart.

"Yuri," Viktor says helplessly, or actually, maybe he's saying "Yuuri"—the slight edge of panic and desperation for guidance leans that way.

That and the warm weight that settles against Yuri's back. "Viktor," Yuuri says fondly, "you're useless." He blankets Yuri with his body, wraps his arms around him and says, "You're okay, Yurio-kun. Just endorphins and a lot of feelings with nowhere else to go."

A lot of feelings. Sounds about right. It still makes Yuri feel like a dumb teenager, though, and he shifts awkwardly, trying to hide his face.

They let him, but Yuuri leans in and kisses his tear-stained cheek. "Let's go home."

Yuri freezes. A few minutes ago, all he wanted was for them to take him home and fuck him, but now...

"The sex can wait," Viktor says, finally catching up. "We can be patient."

Yuri shivers in his hold for another minute before nodding slowly against his shoulder. "Okay. Let's go home."

 

The next morning, Yuri has to forcefully detangle himself from Viktor's limbs to get out of bed. Viktor frowns in his sleep and turns over, wrapping himself tighter around Yuuri.

"Why are you such a fucking octopus," he grouses, but even he can't manage to be grumpy at the way both of them stir, turning to face him before they're even fully awake.

"Mmmm," Yuuri says, stretching. His eyes open halfway. "Yurio, why are you up?"

Yuri snorts. "Just because you two are retired doesn't mean some of don't still have to practice."

"Practice is cancelled, come back to bed," Viktor mumbles into Yuuri's shoulder. "Coach's orders."

"I've already skipped too many practices," Yuri protests half-heartedly, but, well. He still hasn't changed into skating clothes for a reason.

"It'll be fine." Viktor rolls over and smiles at him, sly. "We've fixed all our issues, now, right?" He's talking about the routine, only he isn't.

Yuri bites back a smile. "Yeah. All right." He climbs back into the bed, and lets them pull him in between them.

He loves them, he realizes. The thought comes with only a slight pang, a phantom pain.

Just enough for him to use as inspiration, he thinks, and smiles when Yuuri kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as pageleaf if you need me! ♥


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